Life’s Work: An Interview with Brian Grazer

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Brian Grazer worked his way up in Hollywood—from Warner Brothers law clerk to Oscar-winning producer. His first hit was Splash; many others, from Apollo 13 to TV’s 24, followed. The key to his success? Asking good questions—of employees, collaborators, and brilliant people in other fields. His new book is titled A Curious Mind.

HBR: You say curiosity helped you in your career. How so?

Grazer: In the business of storytelling—movies, television, or documentaries—you’re looking for originality in the subject and point of view. Being interested in other fields and meeting experts outside entertainment—whether it’s a two-hour conversation with John Nash that turns into A Beautiful Mind, or talking to people in architecture or fashion, CIA directors or Nobel laureates—has given me a better sense of which ideas feel authentic and new. Also, if you’re engaging in these conversations, you’re becoming a better, smarter, more interesting person, which gives you an endless amount of confidence. When everyone in the business is trying to work with Tom Hanks or Russell Crowe or Denzel Washington or Eddie Murphy, I think I get the tip on the ball because they know I care about more than just the dynamics of Hollywood.

I think some people have more curiosity than others, but to use it as a tool does take work. You have to say, “What other subjects are out there?” And then “What’s my entry point?” For example, with Apollo 13, I didn’t know anything at all about aerodynamics or the space program of that era. But when I saw a 12-page outline of what was going to be a book by Jim Lovell, I thought, “Wow, what would it be like to survive a situation like that?” So that was my entry point—survival. And then I wondered, “What resources were available to these three astronauts? Who did they communicate with?” You have to assault a topic kind of like a scientist would assault a subatomic particle, to get very granular and ask endless questions. You often think you’re asking your best ones first. But I find that they usually come somewhere in the middle, because that’s when you’re most engaged. People like to talk about themselves. The sexiest guys are the ones who look into that girl’s eyes and ask her all the questions she’s always wanted to be asked. It happens in romance, and in the full spectrum of life.

As a leader, at what point do you stop asking questions and start setting a direction?

People have a tendency to follow those who have a lot of knowledge and want to take responsibility. Charisma is essential, but it’s enhanced by what you know and how you present it. I ask a lot of questions as a way of gaining communal trust and creating a team. I try to be thoughtful when I speak but not edited. I make mistakes, but people like vulnerability. Once I feel I have a lot of intel, I’m ready to lead. Sometimes, though, you lead by giving the power to someone else. I did that with Tom Cruise during the filming of Far and Away. I said, “Look, this is an expensive movie and we want it to be great, but we also want it to go on time. Can you lead?” He rose to the occasion, and the production went perfectly.

Are you generally a delegator?

Yes, but because I started at the bottom, I know all the little things that have to happen and I can sense when I’m being bullshitted. You have to know the weeds, to have lived in them, to delegate. I wouldn’t want to be a leader who had never lived in the weeds.

How did you work your way up from that first job as a law clerk?

I used that office as a bridge to meet every expert in the movie and television business. I felt that I had to understand the language to pilot the plane out of the clouds. My disclaimer always was “I absolutely do not want a job. But could I please meet your boss?” And it was genuine. I just wanted to know how they did their jobs and what differentiated their journey. After about a year, I could go into almost any commissary and all these big shots would be like, “Hey, Brian!” But it wasn’t networking, because it didn’t benefit me directly. I still had to do what Lew Wasserman told me: Start manufacturing ideas. He said, “You don’t have enough money to buy anything, so take this pencil, put it on this paper, and get going.”

You’re clearly ambitious. Where did that come from?

I like challenges; I like excitement. I like entering different worlds and trying to succeed—not excel, but succeed. I took up surfing because I watched kids do it and I thought, “How does this work?” The drive? That probably comes from a lack of self-worth that I’m always trying to compensate for.

Can you explain the hair?

I made a point of creating this hairdo because I realized that it added to my iconography and made people stare at me. And when people look at you, you have a chance to be a leader.

Early in your career, you saw some of the great producers in action. You’ve also worked with the top actors and directors in Hollywood. What have you learned from the best of them?

All the master directors—Ron Howard, Oliver Stone, the Coen Brothers, Ridley Scott—have, in their own way, humility and compassion and a desire to learn. They are leaders, for sure. But they are also interested in what you are thinking and feeling.

But you must encounter some big egos, too. How do you manage them?

I just have a threshold of how much I will listen to. When someone, say an actor, gets supermanic and becomes a monster, I just disengage. I never yell; I withdraw. I once had a very good director tell me I had to be with him on location. He became so dependent that I realized I had to deny him, because the minute I went, I would have a lot less objectivity and influence over him and the product.

Your partnership and friendship with Ron Howard are legendary. How do you sustain them?

There is total respect. I have it for him, and he has it for me. We never take each other for granted. If we disagree, we think through our reaction. When I dislike something, I don’t say, “I hate this.” I say, “You know, I’m just not feeling it.” And then I might suggest other options, or say, “Why don’t we bring some other people into the room to see what they think?” Also, perhaps even more important, I love what Ron is about as a person.

How do you balance the creative side of the work with the business side?

My primary focus is to use the power of cinema to communicate and ignite emotions in people. But there’s flexibility in how much that should cost. Every story can be told at any price. Things have to make sense financially; I want whoever is paying for it to make money, and I want to make money myself. Because I started from the ground floor as a writer, I know you can do things for less money. When we did Splash, we were competing against another mermaid movie, and I knew that we could make ours less expensively. We could capture fish swimming on the Cayman Islands, we could use very rudimentary visual effects that would still communicate the point and reach you emotionally. We could tighten shots, use less CGI, use archival footage.

When you’re working on an idea or a project that’s stalled, how do you know when to keep at it or quit?

I test any idea with smart friends and collaborators. If the central nerve of it is attractive and the idea is building—getting better—I keep going. When it doesn’t sustain interest and I can’t build it, then I quit. My whole career really began with a mermaid movie. A thousand people told me, “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.” But then it became the most successful film at Disney in the previous nine years, and I got nominated for an Oscar. So I know that no one knows. I was making a love story, and they were judging a mermaid. When I know the message has a universality and nobility to it, I have an endless amount of energy.

Splash also launched the careers of Tom Hanks and Daryl Hannah. How do you identify future stars?

Do they hold my interest? Am I curious about what they’re going to say? Do they make me nervous? If so, those are good signs. Take Johnny Depp. I gave him his first job. He had some intangible quality that made me attracted to and curious about him, but also nervous. I also think that to sustain success, actors have to be smart. I’ve been having an ongoing 30-year argument with Ron on this. He thinks that’s important but not essential.

Amid the successes, you’ve had a few flops. What lessons did you take away?

Everything I make starts with a dream or a fantasy—a pretty complete vision in my mind of what it will look like, beginning, middle, and end, and the effect it will have on the consumer. Then I have to implement it. Sometimes you compromise; you’re forced to make a choice that is just good enough versus amazing or within the fantasy. And every time I’ve done that—rationalized a decision—it’s been a lesser product. Every time I have failed, it’s been my fault.

There have been so many changes in the industry since you started. How have you navigated them successfully?

I do more television than movies. Look, economics change. Some of the ideas or messages that I would have immediately turned into a film 20 years ago can now be better served on a different platform, whether it’s network, cable, or otherwise.

When you have so many projects going at once—films, TV, a book—how do you manage your time?

I do a lot of creative visualization. I make a point of always understanding the inner psychology of whatever I’m doing, and then I hire the best people to implement it. I don’t have to read 10 drafts of a script.

Of all the amazing people you have spoken with over the years, who was the most memorable?

The one who sticks out the most is Edward Teller, because his philosophy of life was so different from mine. It pretty much undermined my existence, and I found it deeply offensive. He couldn’t see the value in movies or storytelling. But I like to meet people with extreme points of view. If you can tolerate them, you’ll gain something.

A version of this article appeared in the May 2015 issue (p.124) of Harvard Business Review.